


We’ll Always Have London #31-10-9

by Palytoxin



Series: Love & Pride [9]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-SF, The damn roof, Wimbledon 2018, unbeta, wimbledon championship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 00:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15376476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palytoxin/pseuds/Palytoxin
Summary: All the stars seemed to align for that final. It felt like destiny that it would have been this year. But it wasn’t. His loss was the first domino to fall, then everything went wrong.





	We’ll Always Have London #31-10-9

**Author's Note:**

> The semifinal was really hurt. Still feel depressed, getting tearing whenever seeing a discussion about the rule of roof.....
> 
>  
> 
> Please be free to comment～it's always pleasure to know your thoughts or get kudos.  
> Thanks for reading~xoxo

He didn’t go back to Zurich with his family. He couldn’t. He stayed at his apartment at Lambeth on his own, taking time to stomach the loss. And he hoped Rafa could win this time. Although when he saw the roof was closed, he knew it would be almost impossible. But he still hoped. 

 

The first set was quite clumsy. The circumstance changing did trouble Rafa a lot. His first serve sucked. The second set was just okay. The third set, the tiebreak, how could Rafa lost it with three set points. It reminded him of his own loss. No jinx. He blamed himself for the negative thought. The match suspended, but still, it would continue with the roof closed the next day. He still hoped Rafa could make it. If it couldn’t be him, Rafa would always be his only choice. The fourth set was quite good. Rafa went the game aggressively and determinedly. The fifth, long game, Rafa played well, but just not enough. He almost yelled out when Rafa slipped. And there are no more things Rafa could do after that. 

 

A couple of hours after the match was just plain and blurry. He ate some light dinner, started packing for his early leaving in the next morning with the telly switched on to give some noise in the house until Rafa’s voice caught his attention, the post-match press conference. He knew they all lied, but there’s no better way he could check on Rafa. They basically didn’t talk to each other about their own tennis. And Rafa was really a bad actor. It’s easy to tell the truth whatever he said.

With the way Rafa replied he didn’t want to talk about the roof, he knew the situation was worse than he thought. Rafa seldom got piss of at journalists. He grabbed his key then went out. It’s all on autopilot. He didn’t even realize where he wanted to go until he stopped in a familiar street in SW19. It’s Rafa’s house. He looked up at the second floor. Rafa always stayed at the corner room facing east. He loved being awakened by the sun. The curtains were open but no light came out. However he knew Rafa was not sleeping, he could never sleep after a match like today.

 

***

 

He sat on the floor with crossing-legs, head falling back on the bed. He stared at the wall right in front of him but didn’t really see anything. He lied on the press conference that he didn’t have time to recollect what happened in the match. He did. He remembered every move, every shot, every point of that match. It kept replaying in his brain. Every mistake he made on the court was clear like hell. He wanted to shut down his brain, but it just wouldn’t give in. His chronological memory was totally a disaster now.

He didn’t know how long he had sit here until he heard something hit the French windows. He turned his head, facing it. Nothing’s outside. He was definitely too tired that he even had hallucinations. Someone had come to his house and clicked the window, but he hadn’t been almost ten years. Again, he heard a clicking sound. He blinked a few times, is it real? Then again, the clicking sound and he saw a little gravel dropping on the floor. He pushed himself to stand position,  opening the door and walking out to the terrace. 

 

A man whom no way he could mistake stood in front of his house with a silver Mercedes behind him. 

 

“ C’mon, Raf. “ he heard the man spoke.

 

 

He went.

 

***

 

He got in the SUV without asking where they’re going to and he didn’t care. For him, London meant nothing but Wimbledon. He stayed at the same house, shopping at the same stores, eating at the same restaurant every year when he came to play.

 

Rafa rolled down the window right after he got in the car, letting the night breeze blow on his face. He was still in the same outfits as he left the press room, white shirt, and shorts, trainers. They’re too thin at the London night. He saw Rafa got goosebumps all over his bare skin. He grabbed something from the back seat and dropped it on Rafa’s thighs.

 

“ Dress on, don’t wanna you get cold.”

“ Gracias”

 

Rafa put on the jacket backward, letting it cover his arms and thighs. He likes the textures, cotton always made him feel comfortable and warm. And it smelled liked Roger, the mixture of detergent, shower gel and cologne was so nostalgia but the red square mark was way too strange. He couldn’t help himself but keep picking the stitches with his nails.

 

“ Stop ruining my jacket. “ Roger scolded him with a slap on his fingers. 

“ you sound like my mama. “

 Roger answered with a pout and a sound of disapproval.

 Rafa still stroked the mark constantly“ You don’t wear Nike anymore. “

“ It’s just clothes. “

“ The RF mark is missing. “

 

He wouldn’t forget how Rafa hated changes, the same locker, the rightmost cubicle in the shower, always plain pasta with fish before a match. Everything remained the same as the first day he entered the circuit.

 

 

 “ I was scared when I heard you lost. “

 “ You don’t want to play me in the final. “

 “ You knew that’s not what I meant. “

 “ I knew, you meant I’m too good for you. “

 “ You’re too good for most of us. “

 “ Not you. “

 

He’s joking, trying to talk something light. These defeats were too heavy in all kinds of ways for both of Rafa and him. Those doubts which had subsided last year were all raised again. The time to say goodbye felt much closer than ever before. They’re getting older, slower, stiffer. The young generations grew stronger and faster. Chances were slipping through their fingers.

 

He looked at the man who unexpectedly popped up in front of his house, now focusing on driving. Streetlights constantly put irregular patterns of light on his face, his eyes hid deep under the shadow. Rafa still knew neither why he was here nor where they’re going. They fell silent occasionally, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. After the stressful and turbulent fortnight, quiet was good. But he felt there was something more. Something the other man was waiting for and he had no idea what it is. The road ahead of them seemed endless. The dim light made everything golden and mushy. He finally let out a sigh.

 

“ I really wanted that final. “

“ You played well, five sets on indoor grass was great.” Roger patted on his knee and squeezed, trying to give some reassurance. He knew how tough it was. The indoor surface was never Rafa’s advantage. Five sets from two to one was beyond expectation. He noticed Rafa’s eye glinting under the illumination of the city like the stars were all falling in them. The muscles under his palm tensed and trembled.

Rafa bit his own lip but could no longer hold back his frustration. He had kept telling himself million times that he gave his all, he had no regrets. But it still hurt anyway. It’s so close. He forced himself too hard that he started coughing violently, choking on a breath he didn’t even know he was holding from the day Roger was defeated, from the night match was suspended, from the last point of the match was ruled. 

Roger pulled over immediately and ushered Rafa into his hug with a hand over the nape of his neck, a protective gesture he always did back to the day when Rafa was extremely young and soft and he was standing tall like he owned the world. 

 

“ I want you in that final too. “ Rafa’s voice cracked with sobs. His heart was broken. He wanted that final too. The reunion was like a promise. And he knew how seriously Rafa took it. He fought hard for it, playing surprisingly well this year. The weather suited him, the sun shining brilliantly, the wind warm and blowing steadily, no endless rain that bothered like every past year. All the stars seemed to align for that final. It felt like destiny that it would have been this year. But it wasn’t. His loss was the first domino to fall, then everything went wrong. 

He felt the tear streaming down his neck eventually. What he had prepared all the night was for this. He knew Rafa couldn’t stop thinking the match like he always did for all the game plan he missed. He was hundreds of times better at soothing people than he had been years ago. He held the young man tight and rocked him gently, stroking and patting over his back until his weeping subsided. He lifted Rafa’s face and wiped his tear away. A sheepish smile appeared on Rafa’s flushed face. Even with those wrinkles around his eyes, he still looked impossibly young and beautiful. He pinched Rafa‘s face one more time then started the car. Rafa spoke nothing from then, head ducking down bashfully, but wasn’t depressed anymore. The lingering despondent had finally gone. Roger’s heart lightened. The endless road ahead of them seemed full of hope. He started to enjoy his beloved night-driving. He loved London, it was always something special here. 

The tiredness of the long match finally caught up with Rafa. His eyelids drooped low. His neck could no longer hold his head up. He covered his mouth with hands but couldn’t suppress the yawn. Roger chuckled. He made a turn and headed back toward where they’re from. He wasn’t that cruel to keep poor Rafa stay up so late.

  

 

It didn’t take long to return to Rafa’s house. They stood at the doorway. He could still see the red rim around Rafa’s sore eyes. He couldn’t help but smile softly and tried hard to prevent his hand from pushing the curls out of Rafa’s face.

 

“I hope Sascha wouldn’t mind we went out at night. “ He still remembered how he was annoyed every time Rafa hung out with the Armada when he was too young and immature.

Rafa looked a little surprised then became awkwardly embarrassed.

 

“ No, he...we’re ... it didn’t work. “

“ Oh,..oh.....” he didn’t know what’s supposed to say nor what to do.

 

Rafa leaned close, encircling his waist with both arms, face pressing tight on the side of his neck. His breath was hot and damp on Roger’s skin.

“ Thank you for coming tonight, Rogelio.”

 

Roger hugged back, tilting his head to allow his face to touch Rafa’s fluffy soft hair. He missed hugging with Rafa at the net, missing the feeling of playing with him on the central court, under the sun, the wind, the rain.

 

“Next year, Raf. Next year.”

 

“Sí”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
